


To Sleep, To Dream, To Choose

by afteriwake



Series: Second Chances [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 11:36:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with a dream, one Sherlock has found himself having more than once since he met Irene Adler, but this dream is different. There’s a more sinister reason he’s having it. And after a chat with the person who made the dream, he gets offered a choice: leave this dream world with John and leave the Doctor to suffer, or stay in the dream and die in reality. The choice he makes is surprising.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Sleep, To Dream, To Choose

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for **Cellar Door** over at Livejournal for the [holmestice](http://holmestice.livejournal.com) holiday exchange.

He awoke with a start. One moment he had been in a spaceship, one that travelled through time and space. John had been there with him, and there had been a man with a bow tie and tweed jacket. The Doctor, the man had called himself. It had been so vivid, so real. Sherlock never really dreamed, but this….this had been a very lucid, very detailed dream. But it must have been a dream, he thought to himself as he sat up in bed and stretched. To travel through time and space was ludicrous.

He felt someone stir next to him and he paused. And then after a moment he relaxed. It was just Irene. After she had cut her ties with Moriarty, done everything in her power to keep herself safe, they had settled into some form of a relationship. She was actually quite a bit more patient with him than he deserved. He had been sure that she would get frustrated and leave him alone again, but she had proven that no matter what she cared about him. Mycroft had been wrong; caring was not a bad thing at all.

He felt her arm wrap around his waist slightly and he smiled to himself. He knew for a fact she had not had the same level of intimacy with her clients that she had with him. He looked down at her and saw her eyes flutter open. “Good morning,” he said quietly, a small smile on his face.

“Good morning,” she said, a smile creeping upon her face. He leaned over slightly and she moved her hand to cup the back of his head and pulled him in for a kiss as she sat up. He had never really enjoyed the act of kissing, and had felt much the same way about the act of sex, but that was before Irene began teaching him that both acts could be quite enjoyable.

He pulled away only when he had to breathe, and when he looked at Irene he could tell she wasn’t going to be satisfied with just a kiss. And when she used her body to maneuver him onto his back, he had the feeling he would not be leaving the bed for quite some time. He had been bare to the waist and she, as usual, had slept naked. She moved over him so that she was straddling the lower half of his body, and she leaned in to kiss him again. It was a possessive kiss, one that nearly turned into a battle for control, but he knew if she wanted to be in charge all she needed to do was reach over to the nightstand for the handcuffs and he would let her be dominant.

She pressed herself close but not so close she was against him; her bare breasts just barely grazed the surface of his chest. She pulled away from the kiss and moved towards his neck. He knew she liked to bite when it was just the two of them and when he felt her teeth clamp down on his skin right at his pulse point he shuddered. He liked pain, not too much but just enough, and she was good at knowing what just enough was. He could feel parts of him stir, and from where she was straddling him he knew she could feel that, too.

She made her way down lower, nipping at his chest as she went, then trailing down to his stomach. She only moved away from him when she got to the waistband of his pyjama bottoms, and then she moved off of him, grasping the waistband in her hands. He obligingly lifted up his hips and she carefully peeled them off, freeing his erection. He was watching her as she licked her lips. “I never get over how magnificent that is,” she murmured slightly as she looked at him. He said nothing but smirked slightly in response. She’d seen more than he’d care to admit and the fact she still found him impressive stroked his ego.

She moved his pyjama bottoms all the way off his body and then moved over him again. There were a few things she liked to do more than most, and two options presented themselves with their current positions. What she would do most depended on what she asked him to do next, and as she reached next to him for the blindfold he knew exactly what she was planning. Because once the blindfold was on then came the handcuffs to the bed frame, and then she would torment him. He didn’t mind it too much, though there were times he did prefer to be in control. She slipped the blindfold over his eyes as he moved down slightly and put his arms over his head. He felt the cold steel of one handcuff on his left wrist and then heard it snap shut, and then he felt another one on his right wrist, and then he heard both of them attached to the bed.

Everything was feeling now, since he could see nothing. He felt her rake her fingernails down his chest, and she did it hard enough that he knew there would be thin red lines down his chest when he took the blindfold off. He felt her hands move lower, and then she closed her hands around his erection. He waited a moment and then felt her lips on him, then she took him into her mouth. This was a surprise; normally when she had him at her mercy she would do other things. But he did enjoy this as well.

She moved her mouth up and down, curling her tongue around him and adding a little suction. If she wasn’t careful she wouldn’t get any pleasure herself. He waited, the torture being exquisite. She took her time, and just when he was about to climax she pulled away, and then a few moments later he felt a slight shift in the mattress and knew she was going to have it both ways this morning. He felt her hands position him, and then she was on him, taking him inside her. These were the moments where the handcuffs were pure hell; he wanted to have his fingers clenched in her hair as she rode him to their mutual climax.

She moved up and down, a bit slowly at first and then picking up more speed. He knew he was going to climax soon, possibly before she did, but then he felt her tighten around him and then it was a matter of moments when he came, pistoning his hips up as best he could to drive himself deep inside her. Soon their climaxes were over and he could feel her cover him slightly, him still inside her. He felt her lips graze his cheek and then she pulled away and got off of him. He felt another shift in the mattress and knew she was getting off the bed. He heard her go over to the nightstand and pick up the key, and then he felt the bare skin of her arm near his hands as she undid the cuffs.

He rubbed his wrists once he was free, leaving the blindfold on for a moment; he had pulled at them a bit too hard this morning and he could feel where the steel had bit into his wrists. He took the blindfold off a moment later, just in time to see Irene put on the silk dressing gown she left hanging on the back of his door for when she stayed over. “Well, I’m off to take a shower,” she said, giving him a look that screamed “You had best be joining me this morning” before she sauntered out of the room. He put his feet on the floor and began to stand when suddenly he heard birdsong, and then his head fell to his shoulder and his body leaned to the side. He was out like a light.

When he awoke he was on the TARDIS. He knew it was the TARDIS, because this was what he had been calling home for the last six months. John was slumped on the floor next to him and the Doctor was splayed out on the console. Sherlock got up first and checked John, but John was beginning to wake up. “What the bloody hell?” he murmured, shaking his head. Sherlock looked over at the Doctor and saw that he too was waking up.

“What’s going on, Doctor?” Sherlock asked, going over to the younger-looking man.

“We were plunged into a dream realm. And there’s only one person in the universe who likes to do that to me.” The Doctor pushed away from the console. “Come out, Dream Lord! I know you’re out there.”

“Well, now, that’s a pity,” a voice said from the other side of the console. The Doctor and Sherlock got to him first, with John lagging just slightly. A short man stood there, in an outfit similar to the Doctor’s, right down to the same colored bow tie. “And here I thought I’d actually get to surprise your new companions.” He looked to Sherlock, then to John. “You’ve got two men this time who don’t have deep, strong attraction between them. Meant I couldn’t put them in the same type of dream as your last companions. Had to pair them off with others. No choice like Amy’s choice this time.” He looked at Sherlock intently after that. “Of course, this one has the most _interesting_ thoughts about his infamous Woman.”

“You get plunged into a dream world and you dream of Irene Adler?” John asked Sherlock, who cursed himself for turning a dull red slightly on his cheeks. John may be his best friend, but there were a few things he kept close to the vest.

“It doesn’t matter,” Sherlock snapped.

“Oh, but it does. The heart wants what the heart wants, despite the brain trying to tell it what’s good and what’s not,” the short man said. “Of course, there are a few things the heart wants that just aren’t possible. Was it nice seeing the Ponds again, Doctor?”

“What game are you playing this time, Dream Lord?” the Doctor asked, crossing his arms and glaring at the uninvited guest.

“No game, just payback. Couldn’t get a hold of the Ponds so the famous consulting detective and his dedicated blogger will have to do. I’m going to get you all so turned around you won’t know when you’re dreaming and when you’re awake. And then? Then I’ll just leave you to die.”

“But that’s no fun for you,” Sherlock said. “You want a challenge. Watching us waste away won’t be enough for you. You want to hurt us. Or, rather, you want to hurt the Doctor.”

The Dream Lord looked at him closely. “You know, Brainy, you do have a point. Maybe I’ll stick you all in the same dream and see if you can find a way out.” He grinned slightly wider, if that was at all possible. “I’ll even give you your fair ladies, gentlemen, and your Ponds, Doctor. Maybe you’ll enjoy the dream so much you won’t want to leave. Then again,” he said with a chuckle, “maybe not.” Then they heard birdsong again, and they began to slump to the floor exactly where they were.

When they awoke again, this time Sherlock knew this was a dream. The experience in the TARDIS didn’t seem fuzzy or vague. He looked around 221B Baker Street and spied John chatting up a blonde woman, his hand linked in hers. He saw the Doctor talking with an attractive younger couple, a woman with flaming ginger hair and a man with sandy brown hair and an ugly Christmas jumper on. The two of them didn’t appear to notice that they were in a dream, and he wondered why he knew. He made his way to his bedroom and locked the door behind him. He needed to think, and he needed to think hard. “Think,” he muttered to himself.

“You really are no fun, you know,” he heard a voice say from the bed. The Dream Lord was sitting on the edge, his feet dangling off the side. “They have no clue this is a dream. To them it’s perfect. John has his Mary, the Doctor has his Ponds.” Then his eyes narrowed. “And I’m starting to wonder why you didn’t fall as easily into this dream as you did the first one.”

“As much as Ms. Adler may cross my mind at times, I know there are certain truths in my life. Caring is a disadvantage, as my brother has said before. I wouldn’t form an attachment of that sort to her. I wouldn’t form an attachment of that sort to anyone.”

“You’re a bad liar,” the other man replied. “You would like to. You’ve changed since you had to fake your death. You look at the couples around you and you want what they have. Just look at your friends Molly and Greg. They’re blissfully happy, and you can see it every time you’re around them, either while they’re on their own or together. When they’re together its worse. And it just eats you up inside that they have happiness. What do you have? You just have cases to solve and an insatiable hunger for proving you’re the best. Even now, even after all these years, you still want to prove that good old Moriarty was a liar. You want everyone to know the truth, and for that to happen you need to be the best.”

The Dream Lord was damn perceptive, Sherlock realized. There was truth to his words, truths he didn’t want to face. “But I’ve given it all up. I’ve left to travel with the Doctor.”

“But when this is all over, provided you survive, of course…when this is all over you’ll be left all alone. Eventually John will find lasting love, love you can’t do anything to change, and he will leave you. Then you’ll be alone and miserable, always looking for the next thrill, the next big case to solve.”

Sherlock began to pace in front of the bed; standing still and listening to the truths being hurled at him was driving him mad. He needed to move or else the feeling of being a caged beast would remain. “Even if what you say is true, I won’t have a choice. You intend to trap us in this dream until we wither away and die.”

“You intrigue me, Sherlock. Just like I can see to the core of you, you seem to be able to see to the core of me.” The Dream Lord tilted his head slightly. “Tell you what. I’ll let you go. John too, since I already know you’ll never leave him behind. But the Doctor has to rot in this perfect little dream. If you get out, you get a second chance. You can track your Woman down, finish taking down all the people who are after her, just like you did with the terrorist group. You can be her knight in shining armor and maybe, if you’re lucky, you’ll be happy.” The man smiled at him. “What do you say, Sherlock?”

He stopped pacing. He had the chance to escape, to leave this dream realm with John and get a chance at life. He’d get a second chance. Yes, he felt like he didn’t really deserve it, but he’d have it all the same. All he had to do was leave the Doctor here. It was that simple. And maybe, once upon a time, he would have done that. He would have seized this opportunity with both hands and run for it, leaving the Doctor to die aboard his TARDIS alone, lost in the perfect world where his dearest friends were alive and well and not trapped in the past with no hope of coming back to him. He would have done it if the years spent living on his own while he took down Moriarty’s network hadn’t changed him. This new man that he was, he didn’t sacrifice people for his own gain. He may not form romantic attachments, but he had formed friendships, and this changed man would never abandon a friend. He found himself shaking his head before he knew what he wanted to say. “I won’t leave him.”

The smile dropped off the Dream Lord’s face in an instant, becoming replaced by a scowl. “You’re an idiot, then. You were offered freedom and now you’re going to rot.”

“On the contrary,” Sherlock said. “I have another proposition for you.”

The scowl disappeared just as quickly as the smile had, this time replaced by a quizzical look. “I’m listening,” he said evenly.

“You let the Doctor and John go, and you keep me here.”

“Why on earth would you want to do _that_?” the Dream Lord asked, sounding perplexed. “You know this is a dream. You’d never be happy here.”

“And so you would get the misery you want. If I tell people this is all a dream, they’ll brand me a lunatic. They’ll most likely lock me up. So I’ll have to live a lie, and you can watch. You can see me self-destruct the longer it goes on.”

“But it’s the Doctor I want to suffer,” the Dream Lord replied.

“He’s already suffering. For someone who is perceptive enough to know my true feelings about Ms. Adler you are frightfully off the mark about the Doctor. The fact that Amy and Rory are trapped in the 1930s and he can never see them again is torture enough. They were more than friends, they were family. And at some point soon he’ll take River Song on the last trip they’ll go on together, if he hasn’t already, and then his wife will be gone. He will be alone, and no companion will be able to fill up the void, not completely. It will eat away at him for the rest of his life. But in this perfect dream, he has the Ponds, and I’m sure he has River as well. This dream is a kindness to him, not a punishment.”

He watched as the realization dawned on the Dream Lord’s face. It was interesting, watching the man’s carefully laid plan crumble apart around him. Then the look was gone and the Dream Lord was giving him another smile, though this one seemed different, tempered with an understanding that hadn’t been there before. “If I let the Doctor and your friend go, the Doctor will still suffer?”

“More than if you kept him in the dream, yes,” Sherlock said with a nod.

“Watching him suffer from afar would be more pleasurable than keeping you here.” In an instant the Dream Lord was off the bed and in front of Sherlock, extending his hand. “Let’s shake on it, like gentleman. I let you all go, and the Doctor suffers in the hell he’s trapped himself in.”

Sherlock extended his own hand and shook the Dream Lord’s hand. Suddenly the sound of birdsong filled the air again, and Sherlock realized he was slumped on the floor next to the console. This time he was not the first one awake; the Doctor was kneeling in front of him, his hand hovering over Sherlock’s shoulder. “We’re all back?” Sherlock asked, sitting up slightly.

The Doctor nodded. “Yes. John awoke almost instantly, but it's been a few minutes and you hadn’t stirred.”

“The deal worked,” he murmured as the Doctor stood, and he took the arm his friend extended to get up. Sherlock dusted himself off and looked around. “I made a deal with him, and it got us all out,” he said in a louder voice. “He wanted to let John and I go and leave you to suffer. I pointed out you suffered enough outside of his dream world. He let us go.”

The Doctor looked at Sherlock, then clapped him on the shoulder. “Thank you, Sherlock.”

“I have a request to make,” Sherlock said after a moment. “I think it is my time to leave.”

“But there’s still things to do,” John said. “There’s places we said we wanted to visit, and other time periods.”

“You can stay. I’m not asking you to come with me, and in all honesty, perhaps it is best if you don’t go where I’m going.” He looked intently at John. “There are things that I want, deep down, that I will not get as long as I keep running. And that’s what this is, John. This is me running. I need to stand firm and fight for something, just as I did to take down Moriarty’s network.”

John looked at his friend for a moment, then came over with a slight smile and held out his hand. “Then I hope you get what you want, Sherlock.”

Sherlock took his hand and shook it firmly, giving John one of his rare smiles. “Promise me you’ll try and come back to London when you’re done with your adventure.”

“I promise I will try,” John replied, his smile getting wider. Then he abandoned the handshake and pulled Sherlock into a rough embrace. “Go get her,” he said quietly, low enough that only Sherlock could hear him.

Sherlock returned the embrace and when he pulled away he looked at the Doctor. “Take care of John,” he said.

“I will,” he replied, extending his hand. Sherlock shook it. “Any place in particular you want to go?”

“If you can find her, I’d like to go see Irene,” he said as he let go of the Doctor’s hand.

“I can find anyone anywhere at any time,” the Doctor said with a wide smile. “I’ll take you to her right now.” And with that the Doctor turned away and began to fiddle with his console. After a moment he stopped. “She should be right outside the door.”

A slight feeling of nervousness settled on Sherlock, but he knew this was the right course of action. He steeled his nerves, squared his shoulders and made his way to the doors. He opened them, and there was Irene, about to knock, her eyes wide. She had cut her hair short and it was no longer wavy, instead being stick straight. The light was dim but it appeared to be a lighter shade of brown now as well. “Sherlock,” she said quietly.

“Hello, Irene,” he said as she lowered her hand.

“How did…this box appeared out of nowhere, and then you…” She looked at him in confusion. “What’s going on?”

“I believe we have a lot to talk about,” he said, exiting the TARDIS and shutting the door behind him. “Is there someplace we can go?”

She nodded. “There’s a coffee shop nearby.” He heard the familiar _vworp-vworp-vworp_ of the TARDIS dematerializing and watched as Irene’s eyes grew wider. “You’ll have to explain that,” she murmured.

“I will, later,” he replied. “Let’s get some coffee and talk, shall we?”

She nodded slowly. “All right.” She turned and he fell into step beside her, anxious to see if this decision he had made was going to be a good one or if it would blow up in his face. He prayed for the former, because he had a second chance, and even if he still felt he didn’t deserve it he was going to make the most of it, and hopefully not alone.


End file.
